


Tell God and the Devil

by Silverskye13



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monsters Weren't Sealed Underground, Alternatue Universe - Mining Town, And like, Cave-In, Caves, Coal Mine, Disasters, Explosions, Hopefully this will be shorter and a little bittersweet, Mining Town, Monster Dust (Undertale), Natural Disasters, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, a little feelsy, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-01-16 16:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12346338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverskye13/pseuds/Silverskye13
Summary: It's a bit like Undertale, in that the characters are the same, and have all the same personalities and stuff. Except the monsters were never trapped underground. They work with humans, and in this particular case, they work with humans in a sturdy yet shitty little mining town.The AU that no one asked for - and that is so obscure "Mining Town" AU doesn't even generally exist as a tag on AO3 across any fandomLet me be the first to break that one in, shall we?





	1. Calamity Home

**Author's Note:**

> Strap on your safety harnesses kids, figure out how to light your carbide lamps, and pray the world doesn't cave in around you.
> 
> Welcome to Calamity Home.

It was raining again tonight, but honestly it always seemed to rain here in autumn. A rumble of thunder peppered the landscape, sleepy and muffled and distinctly  _ warm  _ against the deeper, resonating hum of machinery that bubbled up from the valley and mountain below. Occasionally that hum was broken by a louder explosive rumble, controlled and purposeful in its making. Other times it was the distant wail of a train whistle, either incoming or departing to the rugged cluster of movement that clung to life at the base of the mountain.

Grim and alive this mountain was, wreathed in mist and rain that snagged smoke and ash on it’s way up to the heavens, forcing it to hang low and heavy about the tiny mining town. Like the blunt and scraggly teeth of a sleeping giant, buildings huddled in clumps and gaps, a telling sign of their hasty construction and layout. Snaking about them and up the mountain face itself lay railroad tracks, once glittering and new, now dulled with the dark stain of coal.

Ebott the mountain was called, the town at it’s base all covered in grit and smudged in clinging coal dust was known officially as  _ Home _ , so named by the baron who had founded it - who seemed a bit lacking in the ability of naming. Out of either love or spite, most of those living within called it by a much truer name, one that tumbled off the teeth and tongue in much the same fashion as the thunder that now rumbled its way through the hills.

They simply called it  _ Calamity _ . 

That’s not to say the mess of creatures that lived there believed themselves unfortunate - at least, no more unfortunate than any other mining town that sprung to life in the hills and mountains around them. But mining was proud and dangerous work, the mountains though beautiful, unforgiving. Calamity struck here quick and often and harsh, and so they honored it. Besides, it seemed more fitting for the graveyard in a town called Calamity to be so large and quickly growing - more fitting than any place named  _ Home _ .

When the baron was in town  _ sure  _ they blustered and crowed about this place called Home, but in his absence they shrugged their shoulders and smiled wearily the truth.

Calamity it was.

Now, late in the evening with the rain smothering the hillside, Calamity seemed lifeless save for the hum of it’s workers in the mines deep below. The streets, though few, were empty. Businesses had closed already for the day. Some creatures stayed home entertaining children in their cramped houses. Others slept, or spoke with family and friends huddled around stoves and bundled up in blankets.

Most though, most found themselves in a much brighter and cheery atmosphere, warm and loud and comfortable. Voices shouted and cheered. Drinks clicked and clanked against each other. It was very nearly the only place that seemed to be vibrantly alive on such a dreary evening. A place where monsters and men mingled together, one of few places in the world they could do as such without the regular judgemental stares and division that the rest of the world seemed to harbor.

It was Grillby’s bar, active and lively and positively brimming with  _ people _ . Grillby himself stood behind the bar, polishing a glass as he surveyed the rowdy mess of creatures before him in a lull between drink and food orders. To his right, a few dog monsters battled against a handful of humans in what was quickly turning into the most rule-ignorant game of billiards in the history of Grillby’s bar, though they each laughed and jeered and elbowed each other in turn when something or another went amis. The whole lot of them seemed to be stained in coal dust, gathered in the hard to scrub wrinkles of human faces and dying the tips of fur in black. Against the far wall there drunken men were getting worse and worse at hitting the mark on a few dart boards. Just hitting the board now earned a round of cheers from the onlookers and a round of drinks for the man who’d hit.

High and joyous amongst the talking and laughing creatures rang the sharp plink of piano music, winding from the off-key player piano to Grillby’s left. Or rather, it  _ would  _ be a player piano had the mechanical parts for it not already failed.  _ So much for bargain shopping _ . Instead of playing itself Fuku, Grillby’s daughter, picked out a happy tune on its keys instead. Wreathed about her stood children, flipping through the only two piano books the town owned, eager to request the next song. And looking rather out of place amongst the grit and joy and bawdy laughter sat the newest member of their little community, resting on a barstool with the evening paper in his skeletal hands, an ignored drink just within his reach should he ever stop his reading to take it.

His name was Gaster, and he was likely the biggest force of change this town had seen since the mine had opened fifty years ago this month. Every day he shambled into Grillby’s bar, newspaper in one hand and briefcase of paperwork in the other. In the evenings when he visited, the skeleton monster was always dressed up in a stiff black suit, looking professional and no-nonsense, and about as out of place in Grillby’s bar as an undertaker at a birthday party. During the day though, Grillby more than once had glanced the serious looking gentleman stalking his way up the mountain dressed in the same soot-stained gear as the other miners who slaved away in the tunnels.

Superstitious as miners were, it hadn’t surprised Grillby one bit when the first day Gaster had made that steep climb up the hill, the miners had chased him right back down again. A skeleton in a mine? And one with the Union to boot! If the monster weren’t bad for the miner’s souls, for sure he’d be bad for their wallets. The coal barons in these hills were notoriously, and  _ harshly  _ against the Union. More than one skirmish had broken out because of it, and dust and blood had been spilt. It took nothing short than a visit from Asgore Dreemur himself to calm down the workers long enough to let the skeleton explain his business.

It was a long wait in Grillby’s bar for Asgore to arrive that day, and ever since Gaster had been a regular customer - glad for the refuge amongst the superstitious sideways glances.

“What’s the news of the day, ill omen?” Grillby asked, as was his habit, tilting his head in the skeleton’s direction. Gaster shrugged his shoulders, ruffling the stiff pages in his hands as he did so.

“Oh,  _ ominous _ ,” Gaster replied with a sigh through his teeth, “But when is it not?”

His voice was bright with a tired smile as he let his newspaper fall against the bar counter. Grillby caught a glimpse of grayscale photographs scattered about the heavy black text. The only headline of interest that Grillby saw was a disheartening one - there had been a small mining disaster a few counties over. It left fifteen unaccounted for.

“You really think you can keep that from happening here?” Grillby asked, and Gaster shrugged.

“That’s the plan, anyway,” the skeleton said with a smirk, leaning his head tiredly in his hands, “Just got to finish a few more checks, see how much new equipment will cost-”

“See if old man Dreemur will actually pay for that fancy new equipment...” Grillby reminded and Gaster shrugged.

“Look,  _ he  _ called  _ me  _ out here,” the skeleton chided, “We’ll hope he at least  _ planned  _ to spend a penny or two fixing up the place.”

Grillby couldn’t stop the skeptical flicker that glinted it’s way through him, “You’d be surprised.”

The bartender set his glass down and leaned forward, propping his elbows against the counter before him and lowering his voice just a tad, “Ever since Toriel left him he’s been a mess. That’s half the reason the mine’s in the state it’s in already.”

By some miracle of magic, Gaster managed to wrinkle the his face in a grimace, “You’d think a man could learn how to keep his own books without his lady watching over his shoulder all the time. Toriel must’ve been quite the lady I take it?”

Grillby nodded, his flame lilting into a slightly brighter hue as he managed a soft smile, “She was the heart and soul of the place, honestly.”

“Why  _ did  _ she leave, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Well…  _ that  _ was quite the question wasn’t it? And one that sent a shiver up Grillby’s spine at the memory. Grillby lowered his voice a bit more.

“Well you see, about ten years ago-”

A shout and the heavy crunch of a breaking table cut the bartender off mid-sentence. Grillby scowled as he swung to face the direction of the noise, sparking at the group of drunken dart-throwers in the corner. It was beyond the bartender how they could manage to both look sheepish and indignant as they dragged a friend to his feet from where he’d staggered and fallen heavy into one of Grillby’s older tables. He was a big man who apparently held his balance as well as he held his liquor. He’d nearly cracked the table in two.

Grillby huffed out a smoking sigh, shot Gaster a world-weary look that the skeleton chuckled at, and then went to clean up the mess. An hour or so later the bar began to empty as families finished meals and drinks and the last dregs of some cigarette before braving the drizzle to amble home. Gaster stayed long enough to bit Fuku and Grillby a goodnight after the bar had mostly emptied before he too slipped off into the night.

Somewhere deep and dark and silent, just beneath the haggard skin of the mountain, the earth shifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have research for this chapter yet? Hmm that's a great question. Nothing directly referenced anyway. As the chapters go on, we'll learn a little more I think, and then I'll start spilling my many many beans. 
> 
> Until then, just know I've completely submerged myself in 1890-1910 coal mining aesthetic.
> 
> Oh wait! Yes I can elaborate a bit on something!
> 
> The American Coal Mining Wars were a thing, and were apparently the biggest insurrection in American History since the Civil War? Literally thousands of coal miners took up arms in an attempt to fight for their right to survive and have better safety conditions. It's completely insane to me that I've never known about it before now. I mean, it mostly happened in West Virginia, and granted I've never lived there. But I have been in and out of Appalachia for a large part of my life? I feel like I should've known.


	2. And His Dark Eyes So Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the writer is procrastinating writing their other fanfiction so they write this one
> 
> Also in which the author hints at the 4 different subplots running through this story.

Grillby awoke the next morning about an hour before dawn, as was his habit. In the next room over he could hear Fuku shuffling about, likely fixing breakfast after a night of elusive sleep. He could already smell coffee. It was that warm smell that managed to draw him up out of bed, instead of basking in the comfort of his morning drowsiness a little longer.

On grey mornings, it always seemed hard to get moving. It made his thoughts slow and foggy.

Outside, the world seemed to echo his sluggishness. The sky was overcast, only barely shaking off the inky blackness of a cloudy night to yield to a slowly brightening grey. The air was cold, Grillby could feel it through the draft in the house even if it didn’t bother him. And of course, it rained, the sound against the roof seemingly stuck somewhere between a light falling and a drizzle.

Grillby wandered into the other room to join his daughter. She flickered a tired smile at him, her green fire glinting across the glossy black of the cast iron stove.

“Good morning,” they hummed to each other, just slightly out of unison, and Grillby crackled a tired chuckle.

“Pleasant surprise to have you up fixing breakfast for once,” Grillby said with a smile.

Fuku shrugged, “Oh I’m sure you get tired of cooking for the whole town every once in awhile.”

“How long have you been up?”

His daughter sighed, a sharp curl of smoke flaring through the air as she did. Fuku stared down at the stovetop for a moment, letting the sound of boiling coffee and grits fill the silence for a moment. Grillby ran a hand through the flame on his head, and made an effort to keep the worry out of his voice.

“You know, I’m going to Southforge for shipment today,” he started slowly, and before he’d even finished she was rolling her eyes, “I’m sure if I spoke with a doctor there-”

“I don’t need no fancy city doctor,” Fuku chided in that stubborn, matter-of-fact way Grillby had heard her speak in a thousand times, “I’m not sick and I’m not dying.”

“Of course not,” Grillby sighed, “But even stars burn out if they don’t get their rest, darling.”

Fuku sniffed and flashed him a haughty look, “Daddy I don’t think you know much about stars.”

“Well I know enough to raise one, don’t I?” Grillby countered, a smirk on the edge of his flame.

Fuku let out a stubborn huff, but made no reply. Instead she focused her gaze on her cooking, content to ignore his last statement.

Grillby offered her a gentle hug and kissed the top of her head, “Oh don’t mind me, just worrying.”

Fuku flickered a begrudging smile, “Well worry outside by the coal shed.”

Grillby let out a long groan, “ _Already?”_

“That’s just the cost of cooking I guess,” Fuku grinned, “And you know the rule. Whoever doesn’t cook-”

“- get’s the coal,” Grillby grumbled, “And on a rainy morning no less. No wonder you made breakfast.”

Fuku flashed him a wide, mischievous grin, “Hurry up before your coffee gets cold.”

“I’m going, _hellion_.”

Grillby just caught the soft crackle of her laughing as he meandered downstairs and into the main dining area. In the corner the shattered remains of the table from last night had been stacked. He’d taken just long enough to inspect it and be sure there really was no repairing the thing before finally conceding to the fact that he’d have to order a new one. In a perfect world he'd have the man who broke it pay for it but... this world wasn't perfect. Coal mining being as it was, the blundering, drunken human could barely afford his drinks on the weekends and the bread he put on his family's table. So Grillby would have to get it fixed himself.

But that was a problem for later in the day - should the rain ever let up enough to allow him a trip out to Southforge. For now, his main objective was the coal shed. Grillby hesitated at the front door for a solid minute, watching the rain patter to the ground and gauging the distance between the front porch of his bar and the shed just off the road. Grillby watched it, and sighed, and then gathering up his gumption walked briskly out to the shed. The rain stung on his head and shoulders like nettles, and sent a stiff chill down his back. By the time he made it to the shed he felt uncomfortable and stiff, and very much like he wished he hadn't gotten out of bed yet this morning.

But it was a quick chore, and Grillby was bounding back up onto the porch again and out of the rain, a bucket full of coal under his arm. For a long second he stood on the porch shivering and sparking and waiting for his clothes to dry and for the chill to wear off, stiff from the unpleasant coolness of it. It took him a moment to realize he could faintly hear singing coming from upstairs. It puzzled him at first. He must have left a window open last night.

It was Fuku, her soft voice rasping like slow burning coals in a fireplace. The song she sang was one he knew, a slow sad tune that took him back to an unforgiving summer that took a toll on the soul to remember. But it made sense that she would sing it.

_"Oh say did you see him?_

_It was early this morning_

_He passed all your houses_

_On the way to the coal_

_He was tall he was slender_

_And his dark eyes so tender..."_

The slow drone of her voice mingled with the soft crunch of gravel. Grillby tilted his head in the direction of the road, where through the pre-dawn haze he could see a figure walking, gaunt and familiar. Grillby flickered a tired smile and waved a quiet greeting.

_"... his occupation was mining,_

_lonely Ebott his home..."_

It was Gaster, dressed head to toe in his work gear, looking altogether tired and world-weary - and just a little miserable in the rain. The lights in his eyes shined warmly as he made his way over though.

“What’s the news of the day, ill omen?” Grillby called pleasantly, leaning against the porch bannister, making sure to keep himself just out of the reach of the rain. Gaster flashed him a grin.

“Nothing as of yet, and we’ll pray it stays that way,” the skeleton chuckled, “No news is good news when it comes to the mines.”

“That’s fair,” Grillby crackled with a soft chuckle of his own, and then sighed out a breath of smoke, “You really think all’s well up there?”

_“It was just before twelve,_

_I was feeding the children_

_Ben Moseley came running_

_To bring us the news-”_

Gaster stepped back, hands on his sides as he cast a cursory, searching sort of look up the mountain path - now slicked in mud. He shrugged, “Can’t say really. All this foul weather makes me nervous. It’s a _lot_ of rain, and the slag up top isn’t in a good place for it.”

_Number eight is all flooded,_

_Many men are in danger_

_And we don't know their number,_

_But we fear they're all doomed.”_

Grillby crackled a quizzical frown, that either Gaster didn’t see or chose to ignore.

“All the old folks are grumbling about rules of threes and foul water as well,” Gaster continued before shrugging, “Though I’ll admit I’m not superstitious so it’s hard to take them too seriously.”

“How about you Grillby,” Gaster asked with a smirk, “Are you superstitious?”

_“So I picked up the baby,_

_And I left all the others_

_To comfort each other_

_And to pray for their own-”_

The elemental shrugged but before he could answer rightly, a voice called through the rain towards them. Grillby sighed out a breath of smoke.

“Here comes trouble.”

“And here it goes,” Gaster chuckled, wincing a smile at the bartender before tipping his rain-soaked cap to the elemental, “Don’t enjoy this lovely sunshiny weather too much now.”

Grillby sparked a heartier laugh at this, “Oh I’ll try.”

_“There's Tommy, fourteen,_

_And there's John not much younger_

_Their own time soon will be coming_

_To go down the black hole.”_

The skeleton couldn’t have hurried on his way faster, a small skip in his step as he trotted off through the mud and up the hill. Grillby shook his head after him. The monster was pleasant, if not a little bizarre. Quite unlike the man now sidling up to Grillby’s now. The elemental flickered a welcoming spark in spite of it.

“G’mornin’ Ellis,” Grillby chimed, “Lovely weather this morning.”

“ _Bah_ weather’s fittin’ for a funeral ‘n nothin’ more,” came the grumbled reply as Ellis stomped to a stop before the elemental, “And so are you if you’re not careful!”

_“What will I say_

_To his poor little children?_

_And what will I tell_

_His dear mother at home?”_

Ellis spat into the mud nearby, and Grillby flickered bitterly against the acrid smell of chewing tabacco.

“That there _cackler’s_ bad luck, and we’ll feel the bite of it by the end of the season, just you _watch_.”

Grillby flickered a wan, unamused smile, “Because he’s a skeleton?”

“Because he’s _Union_ ,” Ellis declaired heartily, “And a _newcome_ , and a monster of death half made of tubes an’ cogs. Y’see that damn box he carries around everywhere?”

Grillby glanced up the trail, barely managing to make out the foggy outline of the skeleton as he receded into the grey of the drizzle and the morning. There was a flash of something like purple - the box Ellis mentioned. Grillby _had_ noticed it before, but had never really thought much of it. It was nothing much, just a small box about the size of a sardine can that Gaster carried on his hip, a line of glowing color on the side that always seemed to flash a purple-ish light. Grillby had always just assumed it was some sort of mining equipment - a davie lamp of some sort maybe? Apparently it wasn’t.

_“And what will I say_

_To my heart that's clear broken?_

_To my heart that's clear broken_

_If my baby is gone?”_

“Strange stuff, that monster,” Ellis grumbled warningly, “And _bad luck_.”

“Well Mister Ellis,” Grillby sighed out a breath of smoke, flashing a pleasent sort of grin, “I don’t believe in luck to be honest - save the kind that’s printed on paper.”

Ellis narrowed his eyes at the elemental.

“And where I come from, it’s a sight of bad luck indeed to have a tab overdue for more than a month.”

“Now see here, I ain’t got my first paycheck out of Asgore’s mine that didn’t go to rent or groceries for the miss,” Ellis said defensively, “I was runnin’ on nothin’ but scrip out the Magnolia mine!”

“Lucky for you Asgore pays his workers in bills instead,” Grillby said with another soft sigh of smoke, “I won’t even make you pay all of it Ellis.”

The elemental straightened, finally rising from where he’d been leaning against the banister, “But you’re out of drinks until you’ve got some of that tab taken care of. You’ve got no excuses now.”

_“Now, if I had the money_

_To do more than just feed them_

_I'd give them good learning,_

_The best could be found-”_

Ellis waved his hand with a dismissive huff, finally turning to begin his own ascent up the hill, “I’ll get yer money bartender when the week is up.”

“Be sure you do,” Grillby called after, and if the man heard he was sure he was ignored.

“And tell your girl to stop singin’ them dark songs of hers!” Ellis growled over his shoulder, “Damn near enough dark omens going around as it is!”

_“So when they growed up_

_They'd be checkers and weighers_

_And not spend their life digging_

_In the dark underground.”_

The fire monster shrugged before turning to reclaim the bucket of coal and head inside. Quietly, and more vindictively than he’d like to admit, he wished Fuku would sing louder if only to spook the old fool on his way faster - and then sighed a bit regretfully as he thought it. The man meant well he was sure, if he wasn’t a bit… bitter… about his advice-giving. Honestly Grillby could care less about the tab - he knew some of the men here were in a hard spot as far as funds. Mining was like that sometimes.

But he had to admit he didn’t care for the judgemental talking, especially on a morning that was dreary enough without it.

_“Say, did you see him going,_

_It was early this morning_

_He passed all your houses_

_On his way to the coal_

_He was tall, he was slender,_

_And his dark eyes so tender_

_His occupation was mining,_

_Lonely Ebott his home…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhhhhh I don't know if I paced that song well. But at the same time I don't know how else I would've paced it out. At 3am when I'm rereading this and obsessing I'll figure out what I should've done differently and stab myself with my phone.
> 
> Aaaaanyway! There is some vocab and research in this! 
> 
> Firstly, the song is called "West Virginia Mine Disaster" by Kathy Mattea. It is beautiful and tragic (as you can guess from the lyrics). Obviously I changed "West Virginia" to "Lonely Ebott". This story does take place in roundabout Appalachia so technically I didn't have to change it but uhhhh now this carries more weight than it did before, bearing in mind things that happen later ;)
> 
> hmmmm.... what else. Right! I have like 8 million vocab words in here. Lemme explain some.
> 
> Slag - waste rock that isn't what the miners are looking for. There's slag for every mine, and a lot of times you can find where an abandoned mine was once located because you can find the slag heap (a big mound where you dump all your slag)
> 
> Rules of threes - this one is more common, but its the idea that all bad things happen in groups of three. 
> 
> “That there cackler’s bad luck" - a cackler is a name for someone at the mine that lets everyone else do the heavy lifting. 
> 
> Newcome - actually shortened slang from the term "Johnny Newcome". Its any new hand who starts working in a mine.
> 
> Davie lamp - its another name for a safety lamp. New around this time period (my ballpark years for this are 1890-1920) a safety/davie lamp was a special lamp that wouldn't explode if it came in contact with the flammable gasses present in coal mines. They change color depending on the air content - I can't remember for sure but when methane is present i think it glows... blue? Either blue or green.
> 
> Scrip - a special type of psuedo-currency present in mining towns run by a mine/coal baron. It was common in Appalachian coal mines for the coal baron (the guy who owns the land the mine is on) to furnish housing for miners and pay them in currency they could only use in grocery stores stocked by the baron. It was originally intended to save the barons money (by short changing their workers) but by the time its use was abolished, it served as a way to keep the miners indebted to the baron and unable to leave the land. Normally the scrip could be traded for regular US Dollers, but always at a decrease in value (around .80 cents for every dollar), making it increasingly hard to spend it other than on the baron's establishments. Depending on where you went as well, some places didn't except the currency at all. 
> 
> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I think that's all my research from this chapter!


End file.
